Personal Demons

  Politeness forced her to eat, though she could barely taste the food.

  Maybe she was being foolish. Greyson ate with relish, and the brothers did too. Templeton polished off three plates full, all the while chatting to Megan about the ball the night before, about the food, about her practice. He asked excellent questions. If she hadn't been terrified she would have enjoyed the conversation. But Greyson wasn't speaking much and she'd never known him to be so silent.

  Finally Templeton leaned back and dropped his napkin next to his last plate. “Well,” he said, nodding to the servants, who flew into action clearing plates, “I suppose it's time for us to discuss some business."

  The servants left. The table was still covered with food.

  "We have a few more guests coming,” Templeton said. “They may want to eat. Greyson, perhaps you would like to go greet them?"

  Megan's nerve endings crackled in the stiff silence. Finally Greyson nodded, catching Megan's eye. The brightest fire in the world couldn't have kept her from shivering as she read the warning.

  "If you have other guests,” she said, using her calm radio voice, “perhaps we shouldn't stay. Greyson can take me home, and you can call me later."

  "But they're eager to meet you. And we still have much to discuss."

  Greyson hadn't even waited for this reply. The door closed behind him. Megan watched it, her eyes stinging. I want to go home, I want to go home...

  "So, my dear.” Templeton leaned back in his chair with a happy sigh. “I have much to tell you. To teach you. I can be of great help to you, if you'll let me."

  He sounded so much like the devil offering to buy her soul Megan had to bite her lip to keep from breaking into nervous laughter. “I appreciate the offer. But I think I'm okay on my own."

  "Oh? Do you think you can handle the Yezer Ha-Ra by yourself? Or the Accuser?” He leaned forward now, peering at her. She looked away. “Do you even know who the Accuser is, my dear? Or anything about him? I know Grey told you quite a bit about us and how we operate, but even he doesn't know anything about what you're up against."

  "Perhaps you could put it in a letter for me,” Megan said, stilling the restlessness in her legs by standing. “I really must go now."

  "Sit down.” The command in his formerly lazy voice was so strong her legs gave out beneath her before she realized it. “You may be able to play this clever little game with Greyson—he's always had a weakness for a pretty face—but it won't work with me. I know you're hiding some answers in that lovely blond head and I intend to get them. Do you understand?"

  "I don't know anything—"

  "Then we'll have to jog your memory.” He stood up and strode to a sideboard at the far end of the room, returning a moment later with a cigar and lighting it from the palm of his hand. “I'm sorry, do you mind if I smoke?"

  The genuine concern in his eyes was such a contrast to the anger of a moment ago that Megan blinked. She shook her head.

  "Thank you. I apologize for not asking before. It's been a while since I've had a visitor who doesn't indulge.” He gave her a little bow before continuing to speak. “As I said, Megan, I believe the memories we need, the information we need, is still there, in your head. But perhaps we need to resort to some more extreme measures in order to extract it."

  What sort of weapon did one use to fight a fire demon? Flour? She had no idea what would hurt them, even if she had access to anything more dangerous than a dessert spoon. She doubted seriously that would do any damage at all.

  "Greyson could hypnotize me,” she said. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “He said he probably could."

  "Hypnosis isn't a good idea.” Smoke puffed around Templeton's face. “We don't want you to relive the experience and we don't want to damage your subconscious. No, it's far better if we simply work with you to get at the memories, isn't it?"

  Her head pounded. “You want to know about Harlan Trooper, don't you? That's the information you need, the memories you need. Because it was the Accuser in Trooper that night and somehow I called him."

  She didn't need his slow nod to tell her she was right. “Very good, Megan. See? I told you, you know more than you think. All it takes is a sense of urgency, a sense of need, to find out what we want to know. We won't be interrupted by a fiend this time, or some unhinged loser with a gun."

  How did he know about that day in the park? Had Greyson told him? But Greyson didn't know what she'd been discussing with Brian, did he?

  Templeton picked up the silver bell on the table and rang it. “Now.” He smiled. “Once our guests are seated and served, we can begin."

  "Who are the guests?” Her drink beckoned to her, but she refused. Gin was not what she needed. She wanted coffee, or a Coke, something with caffeine and sugar.

  Especially if the room was about to fill with personal demons, as she suspected it would. This was it. She was being handed over to them. What else could Templeton mean by “guests"?

  "Calm yourself, you're white as a ghost. The other guests are simply the heads of a few other Meegras. I was given the responsibility, you see, of solving this little mystery. I invited them over to watch me do it."

  "What if I can't remember anything?” she asked, as the doors opened and people started filing in.

  There were only six new guests, five men and one woman whose beauty made Megan gasp. The woman smiled and waggled her fingers in greeting. They were topped by three-inch red fingernails, filed into impossibly sharp points.

  The men were no less attractive, each in their own way. Megan remembered what Dante had said to her about demons and beauty the night before. Here it was in practice. Seven impossibly gorgeous demons, looking at her, watching her for signs of weakness like hyenas studying a kitten. She made sure her shields were as tight and strong as she could make them and gave her blankest smile.

  "I think you will remember,” Templeton said. “Because we're going to help you."

  The door opened one more time and Greyson entered.

  He was shirtless, wearing only a loose towel, almost a kilt, from the waist down. Megan tried to meet his eyes, but he would not look at her, staring instead at Templeton and each of the other demons in turn. Two sets of dull black shackles bound his wrists, but they were not chained together.

  He said something in the demon tongue and the others laughed. Megan wished she knew if it was a joke. He still wouldn't look at her.

  "Megan,” Templeton said, and he was looking at her. “Greyson will help us jog your memory today."

  "It's not necessary.” Two servants were busy behind her, but Megan kept her eyes focused on Greyson. She had a horrible suspicion she knew what they were doing, what was going to happen. Her fingers ached from gripping her thighs under the table.

  Templeton nodded. “Perhaps it isn't, but Greyson must pay for what he's done, anyway. This seemed like a good way to accomplish both his punishment and your interview."

  "Punishment?” I made the decision, okay? And I knew what would happen when I made it. Now she understood. The bastard! Why hadn't he just told her, why were they even here?

  Her vision blurred and she looked down at her legs, refusing to let the others see, but it didn't matter.

  "She's crying.” One of the other demons, one of the Meegra heads. “I smell the salt."

  Still she refused to look at them. Greyson swept past her in a faint whiff of smoke, and chains rattled behind her as they fastened him to whatever it was they were fastening him to. She didn't want to look. She wouldn't look.

  "Megan, surely you didn't think Greyson could do all he's done for you and go unpunished, did you? I thought he'd told you everything about how we operate. He told a member of the Vergadering about the Accuser. He told her about the Yezer Ha-Ra and their pursuit of you. He used his powers at the ball last night to change human events—for the better, to save a life. He knew what the consequences would be, even if you were so na?ve as to think there wouldn't be any. And worst—"

  "He d
id it to help me!” Megan looked up now, staring at Templeton Black. “He did it because I asked him to."

  "And now you can do what I ask you to and tell me what I need to know. Once you've given me what I need, Greyson can go home with you. Until then...” he made a gesture to his right. Something rattled against the marble floor. “He will be punished. The power is in your hands, my dear."

  "You can't do this,” she whispered.

  "I'm a demon, my dear child. I can do whatever I want."

  The unmistakable sound of a whip slicing the air echoed in her ears.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  One thin line of blood ran down Greyson's back, soaking into the pale fabric of the skirt-thing he wore. Beneath it she could barely see the pad on which he knelt. At least Templeton had done that. He might order Greyson whipped with an iron-tipped whip, but he wasn't barbaric about it. He'd provided some padding to protect his victim's knees. Bile was sour in her throat.

  Greyson's head bowed forward, his arms lifted in a V and bound by the wrists to a metal frame. Megan closed her eyes but the image wouldn't disappear. Once she'd seen his back in her dreams. Now it would forever be part of her nightmares and she knew the worst was yet to come.

  "Please don't.” She turned panicked eyes to Templeton. “Please, I'll try to remember. I tried before, with Brian, and I almost did. Just give me a minute to—"

  "No."

  Megan yelped as the impassive servant standing a few feet away raised the whip again and brought it down. Greyson's muscles twitched as another line of blood joined the first, but he made no sound.

  "Templeton, you're hurting him, I can't think—"

  Tension laced Greyson's voice. “Not helping, Meg."

  "Remember, Megan.” Templeton puffed his cigar. “Greyson must be punished. We're just giving you a chance to mitigate his pain."

  Another lash. Another twitch. Megan shrank back into her chair, her mind racing. The demons watched her. She hated them. Hated them so much she wanted to leap from her chair and scratch out their eyes, to rip them apart, to bite and kick and—

  The face of the doctor. She scratched and bit, until blood ran from his cheek, and laughed as he stumbled away from her. Too bad she hadn't laughed sooner. Her arms were bound, her legs tied at the ankles. Bound the way Greyson was bound now, but she was in bed, and someone else watched her from the corner, someone she couldn't see but who spoke in her head.

  The Accuser.

  "That's good, Megan,” he said.

  Was he there in the room with the teenage Megan in her room, or was he here, now, in her head? He shouldn't have been able to find her here, but she didn't remember him being there, that summer. There in her room when the doctor came.

  She shook her head.

  "Remembering something?” Templeton's voice interrupted her thoughts.

  "I don't ... I don't know."

  Another lash. She couldn't look at him. Greyson was still quiet, but how long would he be able to stay so? Ten lashes? Twenty? Sooner or later even he wouldn't be able to hold it in, right?

  Think, Megan, think. What happened in the bedroom? Why was the doctor there? The memory was a white space in her head, a cloud of oblivion she couldn't seem to wade through no matter how hard she tried.

  Another lash. This time she looked, forcing herself to face what was happening because of her reluctant brain. The blood seemed to form a pattern against the smooth tawny skin of his back. A pattern, random like rain on a window but with its own design anyway, just like—

  The blood criss-crossing Harlan Trooper's face as the invisible thing attacked him.

  He'd tried to save her.

  She'd been sixteen, coming home to an empty house. How exciting! The Ouija board was waiting. Megan had always wanted to see what it would be like to communicate with spirits. Maybe they would tell her something special about herself. Maybe they knew why she always felt different from the other kids.

  She'd always suspected she had special abilities in that direction. Sometimes she just knew things. What people were thinking, what they'd done. Like when she was going to sell Girl Scout cookies and just knew not to go to old Mr. Urster's house. Mr. Urster turned out to be a bad man and the police came to get him.

  Clearly she was a witch or something. And witches used Ouija boards and Tarot cards, but Megan had no way to get Tarot cards so this was the next best thing. She ran up to her room and pulled the box out from under her bed...

  The whip hissed through the air. Megan jumped, a tiny shriek escaping her lips. Greyson still made no sound, but his ragged breathing filled her ears. The muscles in his arms were corded and veined where he strained against the cuffs. The blood-soaked waist of his kilt clung to his lean hips.

  "I'd be happy to stop his punishment, Megan, anytime. Normally this would continue for hours, but the information you can give us is important enough to cut it short. Anything yet?"

  She shook her head, unable to look away from Greyson's bowed head. How soft and smooth his hair had felt in her hand. How his forehead pressed against hers as he slid into her body. His back ... so smooth under her fingertips ... the way his muscles moved when they were in bed together.

  She forced herself to stop recalling it, to move further back, back to that day in her room. It became harder to breathe as she pushed her way through the fog in her head, great choking clouds that threatened to kill her before she could reach the memories she needed. Damn it!

  There had to be something, a word, a sound, something that would bring it back, the way the blood pattern had given her a flash just moment ago. She thought of a Ouija board, of the ornate lettering on the tan box she'd bought at a garage sale ... and something opened a crack, just enough for her to force herself inside.

  She put the Ouija board back under the bed, disappointed. Why didn't it work? She'd been up here for an hour now, her fingers as light on the planchette as she could make them, and nothing happened. Her parents would be home soon and she hadn't done any of her chores, either. It hadn't even been worth it ... there was nothing special about her.

  Megan didn't bother to fight the tears. Nothing special at all. The kids at school were right, the way they talked about her, the looks they gave her. She was dirt, less than dirt. A loser, a freak...

  "But a freak with potential,” said a voice. Megan, curled under the bedcovers, sat up so fast her head swam.

  "What?"

  "You have potential, little one. You're not wrong about that. And I can help you reach it."

  The voice seemed to be coming from inside the room, but Megan was alone. Now she was imagining things. Great. One more thing to make her the butt of everyone's jokes. She pulled the covers back over her head.

  "Don't try to hide from me, Megan. I know you hear me. I have a deal to make with you."

  "You're not really here,” Megan said.

  "No, I'm not. But I am real and you can help me come back. I'll help you in return."

  "How?” Not that she would say yes. But it never hurt to ask.

  "I can strengthen your abilities. You'll know everything, Megan. One look at someone, one touch, and you'll know what they're thinking, what they're doing ... you're not a bad psychic, now. But you could be great. You won't need a Ouija board to talk to spirits."

  Somewhere in the back of her mind Megan knew this wasn't the best idea. A disembodied voice offered to give her—no, strengthen her—psychic abilities. She should say no.

  But she didn't want to say no. Imagine the looks on their faces, those jerks at school, when she laughed at them for what she knew they were thinking, their reactions when she could gossip about all of them and always be right. Then they would know how it felt to be laughed at. The way their laughter echoed in her ears every day, every night. If she listened hard she could still hear them...

  Another lash. Greyson's hands fisted and straightened, fisted and straightened, covered in blue-white flames.

  The demons around her ate and chatted quietly, watchi
ng Greyson's skin being sliced open with the whip as if it were a mildly entertaining film. The smell of the food made her sick. Her stomach roiled, twisting, until she was certain she was going to throw up—

  All over the floor, all over the bed, until there was nothing left in her stomach and still she could not stop it. The thing in her head spun and whirled. Spots danced in front of her eyes, the colors so bright they shrieked. Even when she forced her lids down they didn't stop.

  Sweat poured off her forehead. Her clothes were drenched with it, but her teeth chattered and her fingers were so stiff she couldn't pull the disgusting comforter back over her body. She was going to die. She knew it, just as surely as she'd ever known anything. This was the end.

  Her throat, already raw from the force of her sickness, burned as she screamed. Another voice mixed with hers, deep and male, turning the scream from terror to triumph and Megan's sickness into ecstasy.

  She stood up, her hands running along the smooth lines of her young body. Her own fingers felt her skin, but someone else felt it, too, through her, and it liked what it felt. She couldn't hear him in her head anymore but she knew he was there, waiting.

  Waiting for what?

  "He invaded my head,” she gasped, squeezing her arms as tightly around herself as they would go. The room swam, like a double image, her childhood bedroom superimposed on the demons eating dinner.

  "Stop.” Templeton held a hand out to the figure holding the whip. For a moment only Greyson's tortured breath broke the silence.

  "What do you mean, he invaded your head? The Accuser?"

  She nodded. Her lips refused to form the words themselves.

  "How did he do that? Did you invite him?"

  Again she nodded. “He said he had a deal for me. I took it.” She looked up at him and was shocked to see sympathy on his broad face. “I was only sixteen, I thought—"

  "Why her?” asked one of the male demons. “What was so special about her, that he could use her to get back in?"